


pizza my heart

by HelgaHufflepunk



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: AU where adrien never went to public school, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, F/M, Fluff, and also mari is a pizza delivery girl, and therefore adrienette never met, bc why the hell not, blame antibugspeaks tbh, fluffy fluff of fluffiness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-04 05:35:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6643447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelgaHufflepunk/pseuds/HelgaHufflepunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marinette would like to state that, in all of her years of pizza delivery, she has seen many strange things.</p>
<p>And, well, in all of her years as Ladybug, too, obviously, but - it’s just that, honestly, akumatized garbage workers that look like something out of an early-2000s red carpet aren’t really any less strange than, say, delivering a pizza to a bunch of EMTs after a recently-put-out fire. Or that time she delivered a large pepperoni to those drunk, middle-aged Lucky Duo cosplayers.</p>
<p>Really, it’s all a matter of perspective.</p>
<p>Even with all of that in mind, however, this - delivering two large pizzas (extra-cheese, thin sauce, what the hell) to Gabriel Agreste’s mansion - is probably the strangest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. in which adrien eats his first slice of pizza

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to the trash heap.
> 
> this wasn't betaed, so!! oops!! if there are any typos or anything!! hope you enjoy it and stuff <3

“Okay,” Adrien starts, tapping his pencil against the notebook splayed out on the table in front of him, eyes narrowed as he goes over the list one more time. “Okay, I - I think that’s it.”

Plagg eyes the list, unimpressed, as he swallows down a particularly large chunk of Camembert. “That’s it?” he asks, shaking his head in disappointment. “You’ve been locked up in here for your whole life and that’s all you can come up with for your week off? Pathetic.”

Adrien rolls his eyes, brushing the kwami off the notebook with a frown. “If you have any better ideas, I’d love to hear them,” he replies, and Plagg floats up closer to his holder’s face, green eyes glowing with mischief. 

“You should get a bouncy castle,” the kwami snickers. “Or a  _ cheese  _ castle. Or a bouncy castle that’s filled with cheese.” The creature’s chest puffs up at the idea, and Adrien snorts, pushing the kwami away with a gentle push to the forehead.

“Yeah,  _ okay, _ ” the superhero mutters. “Like  _ that’s  _ happening.”

“I’m just saying,” Plagg insists, “you should go big or go home. Like, why eat pizza when you could waterski across the Seine? You can eat pizza anytime. It shouldn’t even be on the list.” He pauses, and then he turns back to his holder, eyes narrowed. “You know what, why  _ is  _ eating pizza on the list? Like, I mean - it’s not even ‘eat pizza in bed’ or ‘eat pizza and then leave the crust under Gabe’s pillow’. You need to work on your acts of rebellion, kid.”

The blond snorts, picking up the notebook and putting it on his nightstand. “Um, maybe because I’ve never actually  _ eaten  _ pizza before?” he replies, dryly, and Plagg freezes.

"What do you  _ mean _ you’ve never had pizza before?”

Adrien flops back onto his bed, running a hand through his hair as his kwami flits in front of his face, the smell of Camembert wafting off of him with every movement. “Model, remember?” he huffs, scrunching his nose at the stench, swatting the creature away half-heartedly. “Very diet. Much discipline.”

Plagg’s eyes narrow in disgust. “One, if you’re gonna be a memer, don’t use outdated crap like that,” he says, “two, pizza is a way of  _ life.” _

“I thought you only liked Camembert,” Adrien replies, and Plagg sighs.

“You’re missing the  _ point _ , kid.”

Adrien raises an eyebrow, draping one forearm over his face. “Oh? And what, exactly,  _ is  _ your point?”

“You’ve been  _ deprived _ ,” Plagg insists.

The model snorts. “I kind of figured that one out on my own, thanks,” he says, drily, and Plagg lets out a tiny noise of frustration, reaching out to try and pull Adrien’s arm off of his face. After a moment, the holder decides to have mercy and moves it to his side, blinking up at Plagg as he flies up close to his face.

“This is serious,” the cat-like creature insists. “We need to get you some pizza. Right now.”

“Yeah, alright,” Adrien says, sitting up. “I’ll just look up some local -”

“ _ No!” _ Plagg exclaims, grabbing Adrien’s face so that his holder is forced to look him in the eye. “If we’re going to do this, we’re doing this right, Adrien. There’s only one place that I’m letting you lose your pizza virginity to.”

Adrien squirms uncomfortably. “Do you really have to put it like that?”

“ _ Yes. _ ”

* * *

Marinette would like to state that, in all of her years of pizza delivery, she has seen many strange things.

And, well, in all of her years as  _ Ladybug,  _ too, obviously, but - it’s just that, honestly, akumatized garbage workers that look like something out of an early-2000s red carpet aren’t really any less strange than, say, delivering a pizza to a bunch of EMTs after a recently-put-out fire. Or that time she delivered a large pepperoni to those drunk, middle-aged Lucky Duo cosplayers.

Really, it’s all a matter of perspective.

Even with all of that in mind, however, this - delivering two large pizzas (extra-cheese, thin sauce, what the  _ hell _ ) to  _ Gabriel Agreste’s mansion  _ \- is probably the strangest.

_ Or, well,  _ she thinks to herself as she tries to figure out how the com system works,  _ that one guy with the katana in his pants was the strangest. This is just...surreal. _

Sucking in a deep breath, Mari reaches out and presses the button she  _ thinks  _ might be the doorbell, jumping back a little when a camera immediately slides out of some hidden machine within the wall of the gate, peering into her face.

_ Nevermind,  _ she thinks.  _ Definitely strange. _

“Pizza?” a voice asks, excited and much more comical than she would’ve thought, and she straightens hesitantly, feeling Tikki move in her pocket, probably wanting this over with as much as her holder does. Mari always feels guilty, dragging Tikki along on deliveries, but it’s not like she can just leave the kwami behind - an akuma could attack at any moment, after all, and besides, Tikki gets cranky if she doesn’t get cookies. All either of them can really do is pray for the work day to end as quickly as possible.

There’s a yelp, and sounds of a scuffle, and. Yeah. Yep. Strange.

“Uh,” she stammers. “I-I guess?”

There’s a pause, and she can hear a staticky, muttered argument on the other end. She shifts nervously, adjusting the pizza boxes in her arms as she waits. Suddenly, a newer, clearer voice comes through - a voice, she notices, that sounds like it might come from someone around, say,  _ her  _ age.

“Do you, uh - do you think you could...put it in the mailbox?”

Marinette blinks, and then slides her eyes down to the grey plate on the wall, right next to the doorbell. “You...want me to fit two large pizzas,” she starts, slowly, looking between the camera and the box, “in  _ that? _ ”

“Um,” the second voice starts, uncertainly. “Th-that would be ideal, yeah.”

She stares into the camera. “The pizza would get destroyed,” she informs the mysterious, faceless voice. “Can’t you just...open the gate?”

There’s another pause, and then:

“Um. Y-you’re not - a serial killer, or anything, right?”

Forget katanas. This is, without a doubt, the weirdest interaction Marinette Dupain-Cheng has ever had, ever, in her life.

And her crush dresses up in a leather  _ catsuit  _ to save  _ Paris  _ with her. On a daily basis.

“Not that I know of,” she says, slowly. “But I, uh. I probably wouldn’t tell you if I was, so. I, um. I don’t really...know if you should trust people when they say that. As a general rule.”

“Noted,” the voice replies, sounding embarrassed, and, oh, wow. That’s kind of adorable, really.

Marinette smiles, kind of amused. “Um. Are you gonna...let me in, or…?”

“Right!” they say, right before a very ominous crashing noise, and her eyebrows raise. “Uh, just - come right through! And, um - I, uh. I have a bodyguard. You know - in case y-you are. A murderer.” There’s a pause, and then: “That. That was a joke. Um. I - just. Okay.”

She presses her lips together in an attempt to hold back her laughter, nodding, and then the camera pulls back into the wall and the gate opens.

With a final shake of her head, she hurries through, into the Agreste estate.

* * *

Plagg is still snickering as Adrien rushes down the stairs, taking them two at a time, his face pink. “Nice moves there, Casanova,” the kwami laughs, and Adrien pushes him into the pocket of his shirt, turning an even darker shade of red.

“Shut up,” he grumbles. “Don’t let her see you.”

Plagg snorts, but says nothing else as Adrien slides to the front door, pulling it open smoothly, only to be met face-to-face with the pizza delivery girl, one of her fists raised to knock on the door.

(The very  _ pretty  _ pizza delivery girl. With pigtails. And an amused half-smile that reminds him of Ladybug’s.)

He grins.

She blinks.

“Um,” she says, still blinking up at him, her blue eyes wide with surprise, glancing down at the pizza boxes in her arms and then shoving them outwards, towards him. “Th-that’d be.  €14.26.”

“Oh! Uh, thanks,” he says, taking the pizza and trying to keep it balanced while reaching for his wallet. He glances at her out of the corner of his eye while he does, and notices that she’s looking him and down, slowly, her cheeks slightly pink, and - well, he’d caught Ladybug doing the same thing often enough to know what’s happening.

His smile widens, and he clears his throat a little as he fishes out the money. Her eyes fly up to meet his, and he raises an eyebrow, amused. Her face flushes a little darker, and she takes the money from him hurriedly. “Uh, th-thank you,” she stammers, avoiding his gaze as she takes a step back. “Have a nice day!”

“You, too!” he calls, still grinning, as she trips down the stairs, face scarlet, a nervous laugh rising as she glances over her shoulder at him. Adrien waves goodbye with his free hand, and she kind of nods back before scurrying back down the path and through the gates.

He’s still smiling when he gets up to his room, plopping the pizzas down on the table and settling down into the couch, her shy smile still fresh in his memory.

“You know, you’re looking awfully lovesick for a guy who’s supposed to have already found his soulmate,” Plagg snipes, flying out of Adrien’s pocket and towards one of the boxes, flicking it open and diving for a slice.

Adrien sighs, flopping back against the couch at the reminder. “You know how it is with Ladybug,” he says, softly. “We can’t be together. She’s...made that very clear. We have to put Paris first. And it’s - I’m not  _ lovesick _ .”

“Of course not,” Plagg deadpans. “Obviously, you’ve got that dopey grin on your face because of the  _ pizza. _ ”

Adrien makes a face at the kwami, reaching out and swiping up his own slice. “Maybe I do,” he shoots back, before taking a giant, vicious bite, still glaring as - 

“Oh,  _ fuck, _ ” Adrien gags around the mouthful of pizza, face scrunching in disgust as he tries to swallow.

“Language,” Plagg replies idly, gulping down his own bite of pizza, before eying his chosen with vague curiosity. “What’s wrong?”

Adrien gags a little more, the taste still lingering horribly on his tongue. “That was  _ disgusting, _ ” he says, making a face up at the kwami. “Does all pizza taste like that?”

Plagg looks down at him, affronted. “What do you mean, ‘does all pizza taste like that’?” he questions, voice outraged. “This is the best pizza in all of Paris!”

“Then I guess I don’t like pizza,” Adrien huffs, dropping the slice back into the box and slumping back against the couch again, brushing the crumbs off of his hands.

Plagg zips up in front of his holder, eyes narrowed into slits. “Now, wait just a minute!” Plagg shoots back. “There’s a million other kinds of pizza! You can’t just - give up on one of the joys of life because you didn’t like  _ one type!  _ And, besides, if you don’t like pizza, you’ll never get to see your delivery girl again.”

Adrien glares at him. “I’m not going to spend money on a bunch of pizzas just to see a girl,” he insists. “I barely said two words to her. I’m not that desperate.”

* * *

“Hey, Marinette, wait,” her boss calls, stopping Mari short as she goes to change into her non-work clothes. “One more order tonight - just drop it off on your way home, it’s not too far from your place.”

The teenager sighs wearily, but nods, turning to her boss. “Where is it?”

“Agreste Mansion again,” the woman responds, passing over the box with a wink. “Asked specifically for you.”


	2. in which the sin ships are #real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is literally mari and adrien deciding to get over each other so that they can get into each other smdh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: i wrote this with a headache while sleep-deprived and it's hella rushed and slightly ooc and i am so so sorry to anyone expecting something better

“It’s been five days,” Adrien sighs, burying his face in a pillow. “I’m pretty sure the pizza is just getting  _ worse  _ with every new topping.”

Plagg makes a noise of disgust, swallowing down another disgusting slice of the latest pizza - pineapple and anchovy, what the  _ fuck,  _ Plagg - and shooting his holder a dirty look when the teenager peeks up at him. “What the hell is wrong with you?” the kwami demands, flitting closer. “ _ Nobody  _ hates pizza.  _ Nobody. _ ”

The model sighs, eyebrows furrowing in irritation as he flops down on his back, his leg hanging off the side of the couch melodramatically. “I guess I’m nobody, then,” he deadpans, staring up at the ceiling, only for his kwami to fly right in front of his nose, green eyes narrowed in fury.

“I am disgusted with you and your life choices,” he informs the blond, and Adrien snorts, swatting him away.

“Get in line,” he shoots back tiredly, draping an arm over his eyes, and Plagg’s expression flickers, concerned.

* * *

Marinette flops back onto her lounge with a groan, one leg hanging off of it as she presses her phone against her ear.

“You don’t  _ get it, _ ” she whines. “He’s  _ so cute,  _ Alya. He’s awkward and - and he has the most beautiful smile and it’s  _ ridiculous  _ and I’m going to  _ cry  _ because I can barely look him in the  _ eye  _ and what if he keeps doing this? What if I have to see him every single day for the rest of my life? And not only that, but the  _ pizza he keeps ordering,  _ it’s so - it’s so  _ gross,  _ like most people just order, like, their favorite pizza every time, you know? Like, maybe once and a while they’ll shake it up, but - who orders meat lover’s pizza and then two hours later calls in an order for  _ pineapple and anchovy pizza? _ ”

“Well, nobody’s perfect,” Alya snorts over the line, and Marinette kicks her feet in the air with a loud huff.

“I can’t just get a  _ crush  _ on some random boy who doesn’t even know my  _ name, _ ” she argues, and then something in her chest pangs, because, well, she’d already  _ done  _ that, hadn’t she?

She looks over at her desk guiltily, looking at the Chat Noir posters hanging there.  _ I’m sorry,  _ she thinks at him, very hard.  _ I still love you. _

“Girl,” Alya sighs. “Why don’t you just  _ tell him,  _ then?”

For a moment, Marinette thinks her friend means Chat, and she freezes, the question bouncing in the silence of her room for a moment.

(She thinks of Chat’s eyes, so serious and soft and caring, that first Valentine’s Day, of his hand on the closet door after Lady Wifi, his expression so vulnerable as he asks her to reveal herself.)

( _ Why don’t you just tell him? _ )

“ _ Marinette,  _ are you even listening right now?” Alya asks, and Marinette can picture her exasperated expression, eyebrows raised and hip cock and arms crossed, and her face flushes pink with shame.

“Sorry,” she apologizes quickly. “It’s just…”

* * *

“...I don’t even know her name.”

Plagg rolls his eyes as he drops down into one of the half-empty pizza boxes laid out on the table beside the white couch, letting out a little belch as he does, drawing a noise of annoyance from Adrien. “So  _ that’s  _ what this is about,” he snickers. “That pizza delivery girl.”

The blond rolls onto his stomach, groaning and kicking his feet in the air. “How can I ask her without being creepy?” he mumbles into the couch pillows. “I don’t think I can even  _ look  _ at another pizza after the past five days.” He twists his head to the side so that he can breathe, letting out a loud noise of frustration. “Honestly, why  _ the fuck  _ do I keep getting crushes on nameless girls I can only see under crazy circumstances? Why can’t I just meet a girl and take her out for coffee? Why can’t my life be  _ simple  _ like that?”

“Um,” Plagg starts, “maybe because you’re a hermit model and the son of a famous fashion guy  _ and  _ a hero of Paris? Don’t think a normal relationship was ever really in the cards for you, kid.”

Adrien sighs. “You’re…”

* * *

“...probably right,” Marinette concedes. “I mean, there’s - there’s nothing really  _ stopping  _ me from just...giving him my number, right? I can do that? I’m an independent, attractive girl, and -”

She glances over at Chat’s posters again. Hesitates.

“...and there’s nothing wrong with giving your phone number to an independent, attractive boy who is totally into you,” Alya finishes, and Mari nods, that weight still sinking in the pit of her stomach.

She’s been in love with Chat Noir for four years. She knows it will never work out. She gets that. She  _ told him that,  _ herself, all those years ago, when he first confessed. She’s cried over it enough. Maybe...maybe it’ll be okay. Giving Adrien Agreste her number. Maybe moving on is exactly what she needs.

“Right,” she repeats, slowly. “Now I just need to…”

* * *

“...do...something,” Adrien surmises, lamely, and Plagg lets out a snort.

“Sounds like a great plan already,” he snickers, and the model glares at him. The kwami rolls his eyes, yawning, expression bored. “I’m just saying, for someone who asked out Ladybug for  _ years _ , you really should be a pro at this by now.”

Adrien’s heart squeezes at the mention of his lady, and he shuts his eyes, taking a deep breath.  _ You can’t be together,  _ he reminds himself.  _ You need to move on. _

It’s the same thing he’s been telling himself for over a year now.

He pictures her laughing blue eyes, and it doesn’t make it any easier.

“Yeah,” he says, quietly, opening his own eyes once more. “You’re probably right.”

* * *

Marinette stares at her Chat Noir posters for a long moment, her phone lying, discarded, on her desk. She reaches forward and picks up the framed selfie they’d taken on their first patrol, tucked back behind her monitor, where nobody would notice it. Runs her finger over the edge of the frame.

“Adrien is cute,” she tells the picture, as if trying to convince herself, “and he seems really sweet, and - and we’ve been talking, when I deliver the pizzas, and his favorite color is blue and- and...I want to get to know him better.”

She presses a finger to Chat’s nose, biting her lip. She hasn’t seen him since the start of summer - Hawkmoth is always quiet when school is closed - and, like she always is when it’s been quiet for too long, she’s almost afraid she’ll never see him again. That Hawkmoth has given up, and she - they - are done, too.

Tikki flies over to her shoulder, tugging on one of her pigtails reassuringly, expression concerned. “Do you really think this is the best idea, Marinette?” she titters. “You barely even know this boy!”

Mari rolls her eyes, putting the picture back down on her desk with a laugh. “I’m not going to ask him to  _ marry  _ me,” she teases, holding out her palm for Tikki to flutter into it. “I just want the chance to get to know him a little better, that’s all.”

The kwami looks up at her, conflicted, for a minute. “Are you sure you don’t want to know who Chat Noir is?” she asks, quietly, and Marinette is surprised by the sudden subject change.

“No,” she replies, slowly. Honestly. “But...it’s not safe. You know that.”

Tikki sighs, deflating a little. “Yes,” she agrees, not enthusiastically. “I do.”

Before Mari can ask what’s wrong, Tikki flutters away again, and the teenager is left to her own thoughts once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whispers v softly* i warned u


End file.
